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thatfandomslut · 2 months

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A Really Good Friend

Regina George x Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Trigger Warnings: this story doesn't include Cady so that it the trigger warning :sob:

Request:

basically a fic where fem!reader replaces cady and it goes a bit differently? a different past, but was still homeschooled and transfered. janis and damian could still be involved, but the reader has no incentive to do any revenge on regina because she doesn't get a crush on aaron. and like, y'know, regina isn't that bad. she's so protective of reader and is SUCH a great friend. regina makes the reader feel so special. hehe

A/N: I did not know how to write this, so please be kind.

Mean Girls requests are open.

"Don't look at them," Damian attempted to shield (Y/n)'s eyes, but she gently removed his hands out of curiosity. "They call those three the Plastics. The girl with the big hair, that's Gretchen Wieners. Her hair is so big because it's full of secrets. Then, you have Karen Shetty, I once saw her put a 'D' in the word orange." Damian hissed as a blonde girl came in after them. She was obviously the leader of whatever the group was. When she flipped her hair over her shoulder, everyone was still in awe.

Janis grumbled as she crossed her arms with narrowed eyes. "Evil takes human form in Regina George." She commented, letting her know who the last girl was. (Y/n) couldn't get over how stunning she was. "She's the Queen Bee, she always wins Spring Fling Queen. You need to be careful around her, (Y/n)." Janis warned, trying to stop the brainwashing before (Y/n) was too far in. But it seemed like she was too far in and hypnotized until she almost dropped her tray onto the floor because she almost ran into someone.

"Why don't I know you?" A voice called, causing (Y/n) to look up from her lunch tray, and away from Janis and Damian. She made eye contact with a blonde who was in a leather jacket. It was obvious that she had status at North Shore High by the fearful stares of their classmates. That's why (Y/n) hoped that when she looked around, there was a different new student that the girl was talking to. "No, no… I'm talking to you. Don't be shy, come over here."

(Y/n) looked over to Janis who shook her head, but (Y/n) felt she had no way of getting out of this. Approaching the table with an awkward smile as she set down her tray. "Why haven't I seen you before?" Regina turned her head quizzically. The honey blonde next to her leaned closer as she examined the situation, wanting to hear what (Y/n) would respond with. However, on the other side of her was a girl with wavy black hair and a curious look in her eyes despite not having a thought behind them.

"I'm new here," (Y/n) said softly, fidgeting with her hand. Regina's brows rose, and it was obvious she was vying for more information. She wanted to know more about (Y/n), but she wasn't sure if that was a good thing. Not when her only other friends were so against the idea of her coming over. She didn't want to upset Janis or Damian, nor did she want to upset these other girls. "Well, I'm not new to North Shore. I've just been homeschooled my whole life before now. I just finally convinced my mom to let me come to school here."

Regina nodded with a small smirk on her lips as she looked at the other girls behind her. "Give us just a moment," Regina said before whispering to them. This left (Y/n) standing there, not knowing if she should walk away and give them space or if she should just stand there. "Right, so we never really do this, but how'd you like to have lunch with us all week." Before (Y/n) could reject their offer, Regina held up her hand. "There's no need for you to thank us, there's no need to even speak. You're new and you don't know things, you need good friends who can tell you what to think. We'll see you here same time tomorrow." She said, know now that (Y/n) couldn't reject her.

"On Wednesdays, we wear pink!" The girl with long wavy hair said, grinning up at (Y/n) as Regina nodded. (Y/n) was then excused and she made her way over to Janis and Damian with her lunch tray. She didn't know if they would be upset with her or not when she sat down. Instead, they looked like they wanted to know exactly what happened over at the table she was at. This made her feel a little more comfortable to know they weren't mad at her.

(Y/n) then just gave them a polite smile. "They want me to eat lunch with them for a week." (Y/n) said softly, starting to eat the sandwich on her tray. Janis grinned at this, nudging Damian who looked surprised. "I already said I'd join you guys though, so I guess I'll have to reject their invitation." (Y/n) shrugged. She was a loyal person, and she didn't want to just drop Janis and Damian for the Plastics.

"No, no, no," Janis said, waving her hands with a jubilant look on her face. "That's the tits, and I think you should do it. You should take the offer, and then you should come to us with every little stupid thing that they say."

(Y/n)'s nose crinkled in thought as she looked over at them. "I'm not sure I can spy on them, but if you really want me to take up the offer… Do either of you have a pink shirt?" She asked, hoping that one of them did since she didn't. Damian nodded before letting her know that he had her back. "Great, thank you. I'm going to head to class. Thanks for being so cool on me not wanting to spy on them. You're both great friends." (Y/n) said as she separated from them in order to make it to her class.

The next day, Gretchen sat in front of (Y/n), letting her know all of the rules that they must follow if they want to remain at the Plastics table. "You can't wear a tank top two days in a row, and you can only wear a ponytail once a week. Oh, and we can only wear sweats and track pants on Fridays. If you break any of these rules, you can't sit with us. And, I mean, none of us can sit here if we break the rules. Like, if I was wearing sweatpants today, I might have to sit over there with the art freaks." Gretchen pointed to Damian catching some food that Janis threw over to him. The action caused (Y/n) to chuckle, but she quickly covered it.

"That sounds fair," she confirmed with a smile as she began to eat her lunch. She was surprised to see how kind the girls were. She then began to wonder what they did to make Janis hate them so much. More specifically, she hated Regina.

Regina hummed as she tried to process the percentage of sugar in her Yoghurt before looking over to (Y/n) with a smile. "After school, we're taking you shopping. Then, we're going to hang out at my place. Meet us at my Jeep right after the bell." She said, before getting up to get cheese fries instead. She was pleased to see Regina acting so kind to her, and she was grateful for her allowance since she had been saving for years, and now she might be able to use it. She was beginning to feel lucky at how great of a friend Regina George was.

"So, any cute boys?" Gretchen questioned as Regina left. She was a bit nosy, but her heart was always in the right place. That was what (Y/n) began to notice about her. Shaking her head, (Y/n) shrugged. She had only been there for a day, and the only person she felt attracted to was Regina, who wasn't a boy. "That's too bad. If you do end up having a crush on someone, please tell me. I'm great at keeping secrets, so it'll just be between you and me."

(Y/n) nodded, not sure how true Gretchen was about that last part. However, she felt it was better to agree than disagree with her. Karen braided her hair during lunch, adding butterfly clips, and (Y/n) couldn't see how anyone could hate any of these girls at this table. "Don't keep us waiting later, pretty girl," Regina flirted with a wink causing (Y/n) to leave with pink cheeks and no words. She couldn't understand how the world could be so right after years of being stuck at home because her mother was very fearful. However, she was having the time of her life at North Shore.

After school, Regina took the Plastics shopping and (Y/n) was beginning to feel special thanks to Regina. "Let's give you a makeover," Regina announced before the girls began to give her a makeover. The girls were having a blast until Gretchen and Karen had to head home and it was just Regina and (Y/n) by themselves. "You can stay here tonight if you want." Regina offered when she noticed the time. They had been talking into the late hours of eleven o'clock at night.

"My mom would kill me, but thank you for today." (Y/n) said softly. She called her mother to pick her up and she had ten minutes extra with the Queen Bee. "Thank you for inviting me to your table. You're a really good friend, Regina."

Regina smiled gently squeezing (Y/n)'s hand. She could be a good friend, it just depended on who it was and her mood. She was happy that (Y/n) felt that way about her. "See you later, loser," she said softly. "Maybe we can spend more time just us." (Y/n) nodded in agreement when she heard her mother honk from outside. Waving softly, she made her way outside, feeling like she had just made more than just a really good friend.

#regina george x reader #regina x reader #regina george #mean girls x reader #mean girls

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talesofesther · 1 year

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I told the moon about you

Wednesday Addams x OC/Reader

Summary: Wednesday finds herself enchanted by the black wolf who always watches her play the cello in the dead of night.

A/N: This was written for a request sent by @roleplayfandom and I combined it with an idea of mine that I've had for a while, hope you don't mind and can still enjoy it. Arguably one of the most important stories I've written, because this oc has been my baby for so long, and I'm so happy to finally have the opportunity to include her in one of my stories; just hope I was able to do her justice with this. <3

Word count: 6,4k (sorry)

Masterlist

There was a drizzle in the air, the wind carried it around easily; tiny droplets of rain landed on the strings of Wednesday's cello that shook with each note she played.

Past the thin rain and clouds, the brightness of the full moon was nothing but a faded blur, casting a silver glow over the Addams girl and serving as the only witness to her spectacle.

The strong melody traveled with the wind same as the rain did, reaching the deepest parts of Nevermore and undoubtedly waking up a few students from their slumber. It only served as incentive — Wednesday could feel the burn on her fingertips as her song reached its momentum. The pain was welcomed, embraced.

When she released the strings, a soft sigh was let out as well. She blinked up at the moon above her, silently thanking it for its loyalty in keeping her most vulnerable moments a secret.

With uncanny delicacy, Wednesday lowered her cello, closing the case with a soft click.

The rain looked like it was starting to pick up, bigger droplets started to kiss Wednesday's cheeks, making their way down to her chin. The sky was darkening, with the moon fighting for a chance at a last goodbye to the one responsible for her favorite lullabies.

Wednesday walked up to the railings, her hands leaning against the wet concrete there. Save for the howling wind, it was strangely quiet.

But there was something different with today. Wednesday could feel it. She could feel the weight of a mysterious presence nearby.

As expected, her instincts never failed. It was dark, pitch black, the shape of trees blending together with one another in the distance.

But in the middle of the darkness, a pair of caramel eyes were spotted. They belonged to what appeared to be a black wolf; big in its size, ears pointy and tail long, fur a little spiked as it glinted from the raindrops that fell on it, almost resembling a starry night sky. It was just sitting there, on the grass of the gardens outside. Its golden eyes fixed intently all the way up to the balcony where Wednesday was standing.

The Addams girl expressed no reaction other than angling her chin up with furrowed brows, a dare; and the wolf understood, because it slowly stood up, its ears resting back against its head before it trotted out of sight and into the woods.

Wednesday remained under the rain until she could feel the wetness of it seeping into her clothes. Her hands held onto the railings tightly.

Turns out the moon wasn't the only witness tonight.

—

Those same golden eyes followed Wednesday in her dreams, and she woke up frustrated for not knowing who they belonged to.

Was it just a wild animal passing by or a student braving the woods past curfew?

The thought of the wolf being a student seemed… unlikely, because it looked much different from Enid when compared to her 'wolfed out' form. The black wolf was simply that, a wolf — albeit a tad bigger. Yet Wednesday didn't discard the possibility of it being someone. Someone who was watching her.

She tried pushing the thought out of her mind during the day for the sake of her grades.

"Miss Addams?"

Wednesday snapped her head up, only to see her anatomy teacher and the whole entirety of the class with their heads turned her way, eyes expectant as they waited for something to happen.

A scowl came to Wednesday's face at the unwanted attention. She rested both hands on her table, briefly realizing that the board had three extra paragraphs of lessons written on it that weren't in her notebook yet.

"I made you a question," the teacher continued, one of her hands coming to rest on her waist, "for how long can a gorgon stone a person?"

Wednesday gulped, her lips hovering open as she searched her mind for the useless information yet came empty-handed.

The teacher was annoying, one of the least liked by the Addams girl. She was old and wore long and colorful skirts, with obnoxiously large glasses resting atop her nose.

"It depends on the gorgon," a familiar voice suddenly said, "but usually from two to four hours."

Wednesday glanced beside her to where the owner of said voice sat, and was met with a smirk being directed at her. She huffed in annoyance, visibly rolling her eyes.

You had transferred to Nevermore a little over two months ago — adorning a pair of dark sunglasses you never took off and dressed in all black, save for the light pink pendant of your necklace — instantly getting into Wednesday's nerves the moment you stepped foot into the school and called her 'sweetheart'.

"Very well." The teacher looked between you and Wednesday, not entirely pleased that Wednesday wasn't the one who answered but deciding to let it pass, and turned around to write on the board again.

Wednesday didn't know what your deal was, no one did. No one knew who your family was, what were your abilities, or the reason you enrolled in Nevermore; not even Enid knew, and she was the gossip queen. Despite the ever-present sunglasses, one thing Wednesday knew for a fact was that you weren't a vampire, just by the way you scrunched your nose at the mere sight of blood; but that's about everything she knows so far.

Too smug for your own good, you leaned back on your chair. Wednesday could feel your gaze roaming up and down her body, before you said, quietly; "you're welcome-"

There was sunlight coming through the dusty windows. Wednesday could see her reflection in your glasses. "Shut up."

"Sweetheart," you finished with a grin.

The pencil that was thrown in your direction missed you only by an inch.

—

When Wednesday walked out onto the balcony of her dorm the next night, the wolf was already there.

She got a little taken aback by it, halting in her steps and gripping tighter onto the case of her cello. Wednesday immediately discarded the possibility of it being a coincidence or just a wild animal passing by. The wolf was there for her.

Those caramel eyes held a staring contest with Wednesday, and they eventually won. Satisfied, the wolf then lay down on the grass… and waited.

Long beats passed by until Wednesday finally sat down on her chair and adjusted her cello to be played. Her movements slow and calculated, all too aware of the heavy stare on her.

The moon was bright in the night sky, and Wednesday briefly glanced up at it, partly searching for some kind of reassurance but only finding that it wasn't a night of full moon.

When her gaze found the wolf again, she saw it looking up at the moon as well. The sharp silhouette of its muzzle being highlighted by the silver glow, fur flowing like silk with the wind.

Wolves sing for the moon, maybe that's why this one took a liking to the Addams girl.

There was hesitance on the way Wednesday's fingers hovered over the strings. Save for the occasional twitch of its tail, the wolf was unmoving on the grass, patiently watching.

Wednesday could tell the wolf to leave again, part of her knew it would obey. She didn't. She only closed her eyes, and started playing.

—

The next day, Wednesday made a trip to the school's library. She dug up every single book about werewolves and lycanthropy that she could find — some of them old, pages fragile to the touch and covered in a thick layer of dust.

The place was mostly deserted as per usual, and Wednesday saw no harm in staying. A table waited for her in the middle of the tall bookshelves, the only one hidden from sunlight.

She would be lying if she said she wasn't at least a little thrilled at the prospect of a new mystery. Things have been dull at school without an evil pilgrim trying to destroy it.

Though she was able to read in peaceful silence for all of ten minutes.

"What's with the sudden interest in furs?"

A heavy sigh left Wednesday's lips when she heard your voice. She sat straighter on her chair and chose to ignore you, pointedly turning the page of her book and focusing on it.

You hopped up on the table, sitting there cross-legged so you could face Wednesday, "you know your roommate is one, right? I bet she'd be happy to answer your questions."

See, there's a reason why Wednesday is bothered by your presence. Every time you're near, every time she can hear nothing but your voice or feel nothing but the warmth radiating from your body; Wednesday's little black heart gains a burst of color that should never exist, it picks up a faster rhythm and makes her skin crawl uncomfortably. It's a feeling that's been there once before, fleetingly, much smaller than it is now. But she's no stranger to what comes with it.

"I don't remember asking for your advice," Wednesday said, still refusing to look at you, her bangs hiding her eyes from you.

"Ouch," you mumbled, leaning back on your hands, "was just trying to help."

No one else but you could make Wednesday feel the slightest bit of remorse for snapping. And it's not like she paid attention to the last three lines she just read in the book anyway. Begrudgingly, Wednesday glanced up at you, and the moment her eyes found you, she knew it'd be a whole challenge in itself to look away again; the dim golden light of the table lamp framed your profile and the way your hair fell over your shoulder — for a second, it reminded Wednesday of her wolf.

Her wolf. The thought jolted her back to reality and she cleared her throat, heat rising to her cheeks as if you'd be able to read her thoughts.

"When are you gonna stop chasing after me like a lost puppy?" Wednesday didn't sound half as confident as she should for those words.

You raised an eyebrow at that, almost as if you wanted to be challenged. You leaned forward, bracing your elbows on your knees, so you could cast over every twitch on Wednesday's expression, your personal space shy of mingling with hers. "When you ask me to," you whispered.

The air felt electric, there was something enticing about the way you refused to back down sometimes. Wednesday felt the hair at the back of her neck rising with a shiver. If looks could kill, you'd be six feet under already — or at least fighting for air between her and this damn table. Wednesday couldn't decide which outcome she liked best.

Wood scratched against the floor as she suddenly pulled back the chair beside hers; "sit down properly, stay quiet," without looking at you, she shoved one of the books in your direction, "we're looking for a werewolf who can transform without a full moon."

—

Nothing. There was nothing in any of the books.

Wednesday walked back to her dorm without having learned a single thing. None of the books in the school had anything remotely close to the creature she saw the past two nights. Frustration was eating at her insides because she was running out of leads to follow, a dead end steadily approaching.

She went up the stairs of Ophelia Hall in a haste, pushing the door to her room out of the way and causing a loud thump that got Enid jumping on her bed, almost throwing her cell phone to Wednesday's side of the room.

"Jesus Wednesday, what did the door do to you?" Enid grumbled, sitting up on her bed.

Wednesday didn't respond, she threw her black backpack by the feet of her bed and came to stand in front of Enid. "What do you know of werewolves that can transform without a full moon?"

Slowly, a frown came to Enid's features. She turned off her phone when Wednesday kept glaring at it. "Nothing? Werewolves don't usually change without a full moon," Enid explained, confusion evident in her tone.

"And what if they did?"

"Then they're most likely not a werewolf."

Wednesday clenched her jaw in annoyance, she tugged at the tie around her neck, taking it off and messing up her hair in the process.

"Uh- my mother used to tell me about people who could shift into wolves at will, when I was younger," Enid kept going, wondering if that's what Wednesday was after.

The tie fell to her feet and Wednesday came to sit beside Enid; "tell me."

"Well, I don't know much about it, just that they're technically not werewolves. At least not like me," Enid shrugged, her colorful nails tapping her knee as she searched her brain for the stories she heard as a kid. "Oh, people used to call them hellhounds… pretty creepy if you ask me," she grimaced momentarily, "because they could change form whenever they pleased, and their… looks didn't help either, it made others scared of them. Most of the hellhounds succumbed to the fame and lived up to the name back in the 1850s I think, from what I know."

Wednesday narrowed her eyes, "lived up to the name?"

"Killers," Enid gulped, "or hunters, as they'd call it. My mother always told me they were no good, so I guess the bad rep still follows," she shrugged, "maybe that's why no one has seen one for the past twenty years or so."

—

Wednesday didn't sleep that night. She kept staring at her ceiling and going over everything that Enid had told her. And the only other thought on her mind was you. It was inevitable, too fitting for it to be a coincidence.

Every time she's seen that wolf she felt the exact same tug on her heart that you so inconveniently brought. It couldn't be a coincidence.

For a week straight, Wednesday waited for the wolf to appear every night so she could start playing her cello. And every night without fail, the wolf was there; same place, same time. It would lay down, watch her, and then leave.

—

On the tenth night, Wednesday wasn't on the balcony of her dorm. She decided to break the pattern.

There was no moon in the sky tonight, it almost looked like a storm was brewing. The air was frigid outside, the grass already coated with a thin layer of ice. Wednesday enjoyed the cold, but even she was reprimanding herself for having only one coat on.

Glancing down at her phone, Wednesday saw that it was already five minutes past the usual time the wolf showed up. She wondered if it saw the empty balcony and left. Or maybe it wasn't going to show up at all tonight. She felt strangely disappointed at the thought.

A twig snapped behind Wednesday, causing her to hastily turn around with a gasp lingering on her tongue. The trees stood tall in front of her, creating a blanket of pure darkness between them, nothing could be seen. Nothing, except a pair of golden eyes. For a moment, they looked like they were floating on nothing, intently watching the girl in front of them as if she was prey.

For several beats, Wednesday waited. And then, one paw stepped out of the woods and into the grass, causing a chill to run down her back — not from fear, at least not only fear.

The name hellhound has never seemed more fitting. One paw in front of the other, white air huffing from its nose with each breath, fiery eyes, and fur as black as the night. It was almost as if darkness became alive.

Admittedly, it was bewitching.

The wolf, even on all fours, was almost as tall as Wednesday; and still, it kept its distance. If she didn't know any better, Wednesday would say it was afraid of her.

The night was suddenly calm, with not a single soul around to witness. Wednesday had come all the way down here tonight to put an end to things, discover who this wolf was and the reason behind all this… stalking?

Yet any words had died on her tongue and she found herself taking a step closer. The moment felt strangely delicate. When the wolf didn't move, she took two more steps.

Wednesday was reaching out before realizing it. The wolf's ears twitched, caramel eyes following her every move until her hand was barely grazing the dark fur. It was silky, engulfing her hand in a blanket of darkness as it sunk into the wolf's cheek.

Wednesday didn't dare breathe, trapped in a moment that felt unreal. But her attention was soon caught by a glint of color, dangling from the wolf's neck.

The wolf backed away as soon as Wednesday tried to take a closer look, bright eyes looking at her one last time before it bolted away into the woods.

—

The next night, her wolf didn't show up. And Wednesday sat on the balcony of her dorm in silence, waiting for something she knew wouldn't happen. She didn't play. Loneliness clawed at her heart.

A loneliness that shouldn't be there, but it was.

Wednesday found herself slipping away when the moon was highest in the sky, her bare feet feeling the cold of the wooden floor as she walked the empty hallways of Ophelia Hall. Maybe a walk out in the cold would take her mind of off foolish matters.

She walked until she eventually reached the main doors that led outside, stopping short of crossing the threshold. There was a figure sitting on the grass just ahead, cross-legged and looking up at the moon.

Wednesday would recognize you anywhere. She wondered why, for a fleeting second. "What are you doing?"

You tensed when you heard her voice. You had heard her coming, you heard the soft pattern of her steps down the stairs. You just weren't expecting her to talk. You didn't turn around to face her when you spoke; "admiring the moon."

Subconsciously, Wednesday's gaze shifted to the natural satellite in the sky, before settling back on you. She could barely make out the silhouette of your nose and cheeks, but she could tell you were smiling. Foolish. She thought to herself.

Why would you look at the moon as if it held your heart's affection?

Why would look at the moon like that, when Wednesday was standing right there?

The Addams girl let out an indignant scoff at her own inner thought, reprimanding herself for even coming up with it. She couldn't possibly be feeling jealous of a floating rock.

"What are you doing up?" You eventually asked, your voice gentle into the night.

If you turned around, you'd see Wednesday chewing at the inside of her cheek as she tried to chase away the mess of feelings swimming in her stomach. You'd see her take half a step toward you before deciding against it, and instead rushing back inside without giving you an answer.

But you didn't need one. Part of you already knew why she was there. It was the same for you, and it was bittersweet that you ended up meeting in the middle anyway, even if for a moment. Part of you wanted to run after her and just tell her.

—

You weren't sure why you did it.

On the first night, it was mere curiosity. You could remember the coldness of the grass beneath your paws, announcing the inevitable arrival of winter. You could remember the howling wind, causing your ears to twitch as the fur there felt sensitive to the force of it. You could remember the first drops of rain hitting your nose as you walked and how that's when you heard the first note of her song.

You followed it easily, soon finding yourself in the gardens that her balcony overlooked. And even seeing her all the way from down there, she was nothing short of entrancing. It was like you could feel her emotions through the music.

You never meant for Wednesday to see you though, even if all she'd see was a black wolf. But it happened, and yet you kept coming back, night after night; you couldn't help yourself. You started missing her. Because listening to her play felt like an escape from your unfortunate reality. It put you at ease.

But you should've known Wednesday would not settle for so little, you should've known from the moment you found her in the library, already digging up every last bit of information on anything regarding werewolves. You should've stopped then.

You didn't. Instead, you allowed her even closer, close enough to touch. On that night, part of you knew she'd already figured it all out.

—

It was a gray day outside. Fitting, you thought to yourself; as it was also your most dreaded day of the year. There was no more dodging it, you could fake sickness or an injury only so many times until it gets too obvious.

From your dorm's window, you could already see the familiar car pulling up in the parking lot. There was a bitter taste on your tongue, a suffocating feeling weighing down on your chest for what was to come. It felt like drowning.

It's tradition. That was what your father always told you. It's keeping the memory of our ancestors alive. As if they were anything worth remembering.

You couldn't care less. Part of you wanted to yell at him to stop living in the past, but you'd probably lose your tongue for that. Literally. He had called you yesterday to let you know he'd be coming, as if you weren't stressing over it for a whole week already.

There was a chilly air outside, you could feel it even before walking out the doors that led to the quad; and it was right as you were making your way out, that she bumped into you. A quiet grunt left her lips at the impact, and she only didn't fall to the ground because your hands steadied her; your hold warm on her waist, keeping her body the closer she's ever been to you.

Now, you never intended to fall for the resident Addams of the school. It just happened. Maybe it was your incredible bad luck; or those dark eyes that sometimes put the midnight sky to shame with their beauty. The teasing came with the package of your growing feelings for her, it was your natural defense mechanism whenever your heartbeat skyrocketed at the mere smell of her perfume. Though you could swear that, sometimes, you managed to get her cheeks a tad rosier than normal. It got you wondering if it was wishful thinking to consider the small possibility of her returning your affections.

"You good?" You asked, subconsciously squeezing her waist.

Wednesday stumbled back when she realized that if she leaned forward just a tad more it would result in her nose brushing yours. She blinked multiple times to focus back on you, yet the first thing her eyes found was the light pink pendant of your necklace, the very same she saw on the wolf the other night.

For someone who's always so hard to read, she let the facade slip pretty easily this time. Wednesday's features did something complicated, as if she wasn't sure what she should be feeling.

"You're my wolf," the words rolled off her tongue against her volition, her wide eyes darting from your necklace to the dark sunglasses resting on top of your nose.

An awkward chuckle escaped you. You felt a lot more timid than you thought you would, "what?"

Wednesday clenched her jaw, she felt anger but wasn't sure towards what; "you're the wolf I see every night, aren't you?"

Your lips hovered yet no words came out, you took a step away from her. If it where any other time, you'd be happy to bounce arguments off of her until inevitably confirming her idea; but her timing wasn't ideal, "W-Wednesday, now is not a good time-"

"Why did you hide it-"

"What part of 'hurry up' did you not understand?" A gruff voice interrupted both you and Wednesday. You only gulped and looked down at your feet, while Wednesday turned her head to see a tall man walking towards you. He wore a dark red suit and had the same golden eyes Wednesday saw on her wolf every night, though his held a much darker undertone to them. The man's gloved hand closed around your arm with a tight grip. "We don't have all day."

"I'm sorry, father," you mumbled as he dragged you away and you tried to keep up with his steps. You turned around to give Wednesday a last tight-lipped smile, "see you later, Wednesday."

—

The sun was nowhere to be seen when your father dropped you back at school again.

You had brushed your teeth three times already, but it still felt like the taste lingered, making you nauseous.

Part of you was grateful to have come back late, Nevermore's hallways were mostly empty at this hour already so you didn't have to explain your looks. It's not like you couldn't have freshened up at your family's cabin, you just didn't want to stay a minute longer than necessary.

So you hurried into the first bathroom you found, not really considering the fact it was a communal one and anyone could walk in on you.

—

Wednesday wouldn't call herself obsessive, more like committed. She had pending matters with you, and she was going to get to the bottom of them.

So of course she kept an eye out for when you'd return to school. She saw the car drop you off by the gates, following after you as soon as you walked inside.

When Wednesday pushed open the bathroom door, you were standing in front of the mirror, damp paper towels in your hand as you tried to clean a rather nasty cut on your cheek. Your sunglasses rested atop the sink, giving Wednesday a clear view of your eyes; they were a shade of caramel she was all too familiar with, the same ones that have been keeping her company at night.

You tensed up when you noticed her, your hand freezing midair as you were about to throw the paper into the trash can.

There was a silence that stretched uncomfortably as none of you seemed to know what to do next. You were shifting on your stance, breathing unsteadily and Wednesday feared you might run away, again.

She took a single step in your direction and asked the one thing she came for; "why have you been stalking me?"

As if breaking from a trance, you looked down and away from her; allowing your hair to fall from behind your ear and hide your profile. "I wasn't stalking you."

"What would you call standing outside my window at late hours of the night only to watch me play the cello?" Wednesday raised her eyebrow pointedly.

You chuckled humourlessly, "now you make me seem like a creep." You felt small under her piercing gaze, embarrassment twirling inside your stomach. Sure, when she said it like that, it sounded weird. But you were just enjoying good music, right?

You slowly turned around to face her, your hands gripping tightly onto the sink's edge behind you. "You never told me to leave," you said quietly.

Any words Wednesday might have thought of died on her tongue. She felt uncharacteristically shy knowing that it was you who'd been witnessing her late-night lullabies. Yet she was also glad that it was you, and not someone else.

You shrugged weakly, focusing your gaze on your feet, "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I just- I heard you one night and-" you glanced up at her with a bittersweet smile, fragility still lingering on your heart and making your vision blur over. Even under the cheap artificial light of the bathroom, she was the most beautiful person you'd ever seen; alabaster skin contrasting with soft dark hair, sharp eyes, and burgundy lips — she had your heart on a leash.

"And I was blown away," you continued quietly as your feelings escaped you, "it was like I could feel what you were feeling through the music, and it was so freeing… I had to come back to it."

There was a distant ache in Wednesday's lungs, because she refused to breathe. Her heart was thundering against her ribcage as she took in each of your words. No one has ever made her feel as if she was a piece of art, worthy of a display at the most renowned museum, like you just did.

"I'm sorry if it seemed like I was stalking you," you breathed.

"Why keep it a secret?" She asked then.

Her sudden gentleness startled you. You've never heard her voice so soft. "I feared you might hate me." It went beyond just late-night encounters with a wolf Wednesday didn't know was you; you feared she'd hate what you could turn into; you feared she might see you as the thing you least want to be if she ever found out what you try to hide behind sunglasses and a snarky attitude.

It's because of the way your voice breaks at the end, that Wednesday finally looks at you. And she sees the tiny splatters of blood on your cheek, a cut running from your lip to near your ear, scrapes and bruises in your hands — you're nothing short of a mess.

And you weren't hers. Wednesday knew you weren't hers to worry about, to care for, to protect. Yet she had the annoying urge to do it all anyway.

She wordlessly closed the distance between you, the sound of her boots loud against the bathroom tiles. Taking a few paper towels, Wednesday dampened their edge under the running water of the sink. She hesitated before coming closer, it felt like crossing a line, walking down a road with no way back. Her eyes never left you as she came to stand in front of you.

Your grip on the sink's edge was bruising, knuckles white. You were so quiet, so on edge, so shaky; your eyes had a darkness around them, your lips quivering. It felt all wrong. Wednesday hated seeing you like this, without your usual light.

She raised her hand slowly, stopping short of reaching your cheek, "may I?"

You nodded, feeling a warmth rushing to your heart at the delicacy you didn't know she was capable of. A barrier had fallen between you. When you leaned against her touch, Wednesday started gently cleaning the few places still stained with blood on your skin.

"Did he do this to you?" Wednesday couldn't hold the question back anymore. A different kind of anger bubbled in her chest — one that was mixed with an unusual sense of protectiveness. "Your father?"

"Not him," you choked out, unable to look her in the eyes — not wanting to, "not directly."

Wednesday frowned at that, her eyes tried to chase after yours but you avoided her.

"He makes me do it." A tear rolled down your cheek, you bit into your lip to contain a sob, "he always makes me do it."

Wednesday would never dare call herself an empathetic person, but her chest clenched in pain to see you hurt. One of your tears fell on her thumb that rested on your cheek, and she wanted to take all the pain to herself.

"But I hate it, Wednesday," you told her fiercely, desperate for her to believe you, a new batch of tears coming to your eyes when you finally looked up at her, "I hate the killing."

The moon was high in the sky when Wednesday walked out of the bathroom, with you close by her side. The darkness of the night easily hid the way her hand was holding onto yours.

And as you walked through the gardens together, Wednesday could feel the shift in the air. You had told her about the 'stupid tradition', how your family gets together once a year for the hunt, and how you felt dirty, disgusted at the feeling of sinking your canines into the white fur of the rabbit. Yet they still make you do it.

The door to her dorm came before yours. You stopped in front of it with her, nothing but the dim yellow light hanging from the ceiling to make you company. The moment felt more intimate than it should be. Wednesday didn't look like the girl who threw pencils at you in class — there was a faint blush to her cheeks and her pupils were blown wide — she looked like someone you could love.

"Why don't you ever take it off?" Wednesday asked, shooting a brief glance at the necklace hanging from your neck.

You take the light pink pendant between your fingers, tracing the nooks and crannies in it, "it was my mom's," you said softly, "she was the only person who ever told me I didn't need to be what others said I was. That I didn't have to carry the sins of my forbearers."

Wednesday nodded softly, glancing up at you before she turned around. Her hand left yours and she instantly missed the warmth there, it made her think of how lonely the nights started to feel when her wolf wasn't there.

Her fingers hesitated on the doorknob, she looked at you from over her shoulder, "if you wish to see me play, stop lurking around," she pushed the words out quickly, "Enid is out until nine most nights."

And with that, Wednesday closed the door in your face, not giving you an opportunity to ask about the abrupt invitation.

On what was usually the worst day of the year for you, Wednesday managed to make you go to sleep with a smile.

—

There was suddenly an unspoken thing in the air.

Wednesday went about her day as per usual, following her routine precisely. But there was something making her feel as if spiders were crawling around inside her stomach; it happened each time she walked into a room hoping to find you there, each time she'd feel you looking her way and doing a poor job of pretending otherwise, each time she found herself checking the time on the clock to see how long was left for the sun to set, and especially, each time Enid pointed out her looking at you.

When night came, Wednesday had her cello already set up outside, and she sat on her bed with her eyes fixed on the door. She felt a little silly, waiting on you like this even if you hadn't given her the slightest hint you'd be coming at all.

But she hoped you would.

It was two minutes past the usual time she'd go out to play her songs, that Wednesday heard three knocks on her door. She opened it to reveal you on the other side, looking as nervous as she felt.

"Hi," you greeted with an awkward smile.

"Hello," she bit back a smile of her own.

You followed after her when Wednesday quietly made her way outside. You felt a little out of place, up here instead of down there on the grass. But when Wednesday played the first note on her cello, it was as if the whole rest of the world went quiet, and it was just you and her.

You figured you'd never be able to settle on watching her from a distance anymore. Not when you'd just had a taste of listening to her music so loud and clear, of watching her up close, following each small movement of her fingers on the strings and the twitches on her expression as she immersed herself in the melody. She captivated you in a way no other soul ever did.

Wednesday had her eyes closed the whole time, she knew she'd stumble on the notes if she blinked them open and saw the way you were looking at her — she could feel it though, the weight of your gaze; it was enough.

Only when the last note stretched out, that she did look back at you. And sure enough, the song ended with abruptness as she lost her focus.

Because Wednesday realized that you were looking at her the same way you looked at the moon. Maybe you always have been, for all of those nights you laid outside in the cold only to watch her play. She wondered for a moment if that is what love looked like.

And maybe that's the reason why, before even getting up, she decided she'd take that gamble.

"You are so amazing," you breathed out, your lips hovering as you gestured around in search of words good enough to describe your feelings.

Wednesday put her cello aside, getting up from her chair to take the few steps that separated you.

"I mean, every time that I hear you play I'm just-" you choked on your words, your eyes finding hers when you realized that with each beat of your frantic heart, she was coming closer, closer.

"I'm just in love," you told her in nothing but a whisper.

Wednesday had taken a hold of your jacket, and she halted only for a second when the word love left your lips. She didn't say it, but the way she was looking at you with the softest of eyes held a lot of love too.

The kiss she pulled you into might have been long overdue, given both of your eagerness. You were quick to grasp her waist and pull her body as close to yours as humanly possible.

Wednesday cupped your cheeks, holding you in place as her nose bumped yours and she gave a gentle nip on your lower lip.

She kept her lips on yours until her lungs screamed for air, pulling away slowly, feeling each one of your deep breaths grazing her lips. Wednesday felt your nails gently pressing against her spine, she felt you trace a path from her jaw to right below her ear where you chose to place a lingering kiss.

And she knew, right then and there, that she'd never be able to look up at the moon again and not think of her wolf.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

A/N: This is a storyline I'm definitely willing to expand, so if you have any requests regarding Wednesday and her wolf, feel free to send them in.

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @imlike-so-gaydude @jjsmaybank20 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @pompompuri @halleest @wandaromanova @marveloussimp @rainbow-hedgehog @left-and-right-up-and-down @get-the-fuck-outta-here @awolfcsworld @elduster @alexkolax @georgi-salva @imdumbhi @youralphawolf72 @reginassweetheart @justyourwritter69 @yangsroboarmm @8e-h-e8 @irish-piece-of-trash @femalehomosexual666 @wol-fica @wednesdays-woes @vorsdany @v1ci0us @the-nightshades-library @tundra1029 @aahdiieb @greyscxle-is-taken

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams x fem!reader #wednesday addams #wednesday #wednesday addams x you #wednesdayedit #imagine #fanfic #fluff #angst #wednesday addams fanfic #jenna ortega #wednesday x reader #my story #jenna ortega x reader

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unadulteratedsoulsweets · 6 months

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A DC X DP IDEA #23

A Family Portrait

Imagine dis…

Most of the fanfics and even Tumblr posts are all about the long-lost son of both Bruce Wayne Selina or even Talia, the long-lost brother of either Damian, Tim, Dick, or even Jason. But what if we changed up the timeline?

What if…

…

Damian was just lurking around the manor at a fast pace if the way he looked around, looking for a hiding as Grayson had proposed the idea of playing a simple yet harmless family activity for the family of vigilantes. Grayson had been chatting all week and persuaded each of the imbeciles he calls brothers to join in. Todd was bribed with a no-ask favor from Grayson while Drake was dragged in the hopes of Richard being silent to Alfred about his intake of caffeine despite Alfred’s warnings. Damain already knew that Alfred the butler knew and was merely waiting for Alfred to hide his stash. While Thomas, Brown, Gordon, and Cain did not need more incentive from Grayson. After a quick shouting match from all sides on which activity will be chosen, all of them have chosen a simple hide-and-seek game within the manor as all of them still feel the repercussions of last week’s chosen game which still brings shivers down the assassin’s back every time, he remembers the things that were done in the name of fun family bonding activity.

The moment Drake began counting down all of them began scrambling out of the theater room and to quickly find a decent hiding spot. All of them were trained by Batman and have flourished under his tillage so finding a spot that nobody knew of is going to be hard. Damian knew that despite Drake having prominent eye bags under his eyes, he could not lower his guard in front of him despite his former attitude toward Drake and slowly mending their relationship Damian has some sort of respect, awe, and fear for Drake as this is the same person who had outwitted his grandfather and lived, the one who had fought his grandfather’s assassins and won but you never heard that from him after all if anyone knew what he thought of Drake, his katana will likely to immediately meet that person’s throat.

He thought of asking Alfred for assistance but he refused, he is already at the disadvantage with both Grayson and Todd living in the manor longer thus having found more than hiding spots for them. He already knew that Cain was already hidden in the shadows but he is the Blood son of the Bat and he refused to be the first one to be found. But then he remembered a short conversation he had with Grayson when he first arrived at the manor. Grayson explained that the attic holds all antiques as well as family heirlooms that were passed down from each generation. It may be covered in a few dusts as Alfred cleans the attic once every blue moon. Grayson explained that the attic was heavily haunted as when he was just a child, he could hear people talking in hushed tones each time he went near the ladder that leads to the attic. When Damian tried to inquire for more information Grayson successfully changed the subject and was merely forgotten up until he saw the secret entrance to the attic of Wayne Manor.

Looking at the hidden ladder that leads to the attic Damian thinks of his decision on the one hand nobody had the same thought of him hiding in the attic due to Grayson the “ghosts” at the attic but on the other, he was about to enter uncharted territory. After a quick deliberation himself, he had already closed the entrance to the attic. After ensuring that nobody had seen him enter, he immediately took a look around to further hide but he couldn’t help to widen his eyes at his surroundings.

Eccentric pieces of marble statues surrounded him that looked suspiciously just some stone slabs, multiple worn-down artworks that looked like a child’s doodle, and scattered boxes of blurry photography, but some artworks and pieces could worth billions such as artworks and vases as if they are from the ancient greek, a different type clocks and a single grandfather clock that have different cuts and sizes of sapphires, diamonds, and gold, multiple chests that were escaping gold coins as the wood seem to rot, a box made out of fine glass that seems to protect a glass egg that holds every shade of blue there is.

As he kept looking around mesmerized by the unnatural decors and riches around him, he soon came across a portrait. A woman whose clothing seems to come from the early 1900s with a neutral expression. Upon closer inspection, Damian saw a nameplate just below the portrait and it says “Elizabeth Rose Wayne” which concludes that this must be one of his ancestors. As Damian let his eyes roam, he saw more portraits from family portraits to single portraits. All seemed to be falling apart due to time, as Damian went deeper as he kept following in deeper each portrait. Up until the last portrait, A tall middle-aged man with grey hair most in his head with grey eyes sitting in a large red velvet chair wearing what looked like a Victorian suit surrounded by what seemed to be his children. A large young man with black wispy hair that was tied in a ponytail with dark blue eyes looking neutral at the painting beside him a young man in his early teens with a mop of black hair and bright blue eyes with freckles adorning his check-looking bored and lastly a young girl with a generous amount of black hair styled to what looked like a modernized coil down to her chin and with baby blue eyes the cheekiest smile and was sitting impatiently on top of what looked like their father. All of them were wearing different Victorian-style suits and dresses that seemed to complement their eyes despite the different shades of each one.

Below the said family portrait were their portraits with each nameplate embedded just below the said portrait.

From the right which Damian had deduced as the oldest a nameplate below that spelled “DANAL” Next the nameplate spelled “DANIEL” Lastly the only female in the portrait spelled “DANIELLE” Damian looked at each of the nameplates and thought which of their parents named them with almost the same spelling of each name and the same meaning all names share in Hebrew that means “God is my judge.”

Whomever the painter was made Damian impressed as he felt all of the portraits were looking straight at him, judging his very being.

…

Meanwhile, Tim had already found the majority of his siblings. They all huddled up to find Damian as they were quite impressed at where he had hidden.

Looking around they have stumbled upon a semi-open door to the attic and have deduced that Damian had hidden there. As soon all of them laid eyes on what the attic contained all of them had a jaw-drop moment as such treasures and artifacts seemingly being stored away like some old clothes in the attic rather than being guarded in a high-level security vault. Jason began asking Dick why he even spread the story about the attic anyway as they could have seen these things much sooner, Dick kept on spluttering that he did hear voices back then.

Soon enough the more they went deeper into the attic they saw Damian looking over at a family portrait of what looked like the first generation or the pioneer of the Waynes. Dick excitedly yelled at Damian for being the last to be found but at the sudden loud noise, Damian accidentally swiped his hand too fast at the nameplate creating a small wound enough to bleed but not too deep, covering some of Damian’s blood at the nameplate.

Damian turned to face Grayson and the rest but he didn’t take notice of the nameplate spelled “DANIEL” that had some of his blood seem to absorb the said blood.

…

The room suddenly engulfed with bright green light with each batfam member immediately covering their eyes due to the onslaught of light.

The moment they started to blink away the black spots dancing at their eyes they immediately noticed that the supposed family portrait was now missing 3 members leaving the supposed father sitting alone in the “family portrait”.

Dick tried to usher his siblings out while panicking out that his rambling back then and now is correct about this part of the manor being haunted.

As the voices of each of them began to overlap with each other creating a loud noise, a single large yawn silenced all of them.

Turning their heads back to the portraits they all zeroed in on the individual portrait in the middle. Exhaling another yet small yawn as he seems to try to blink away his sleepiness. Soon the other portraits beside and above him seem to follow, “DANAL” seems to yawn roughly exposing his pearly white teeth to the still shell-shocked BatFam. “DANIELLE” seemed to yawn and pout at the same time as if she was interrupted in her midday nap time. Lastly, the older gentleman in the now empty family portrait covered his hands as he yawned quietly.

Slowly but surely conversation between each painting seems to start as if this scene is something nothing out of the ordinary, as each portrait talks to the other without noticing the still shell-shocked BatFam in front of them.

As “DANIELLE” seemed to be bored and turned to look in the other direction she immediately noticed at still siblings and harshly told the rest they had guests with them.

Dick, Barbara, Jason, Cass, Tim, Stephanie, Damian and Duke. They were all trained under the greatest detective, he taught them and told them repeatedly that they need to have their mind at the present moment, every day, every hour, and every minute. This is their best tool, their Mind. They can´t take away their mind. It lives inside of them and is the best weapon that they need to live. Yet it seems all of their collective minds were still in the middle of processing the result of a harmless hide-and-seek family fun time activity.

…

The quartet Halfa of a family had been in the Ghost Zone for centuries. Danny’s sister Jazz had settled down and had a family, as they have become somewhat immortal, Fright Knights and a Ghost King they still wished for some sort of communication with their remaining mortal family. Came with the creation of a specialized portrait that only they could access for easy communication, like a video call, while the knowledge of their actual summoning instruction summoning them to the mortal plane had been coded and written at the back of the said portrait.

Vlad had the smug smirk when he had convinced Jasmine to let Dan, Danny, and Dani dress in their Sunday’s best, which made them all squirm and uncomfortable, and to pose for who knows how long for the painting just to finish, never mind that he added an extra three for them as some sort of payback for all the time the three gremlins had caused him extra grey hair.

For someone, they told each other they were different, and seemed all think alike causing him grief, stress, and extra white hairs on top of his head.

At first the first up to the third generation of nieces and nephews would call them through the use of the painting but it seems that it had been radio silence for years now. It is either the knowledge of a weird uncle and aunt has not been properly passed on or Jazz’s line has died out.

So, imagine their surprise that after centuries of radio silence, they have felt their descendant calling them through their portraits.

After a quick pleasantry to each other, all of them looked expectantly at the siblings and Danny briefly wondered if he had something in his face for them to look at them like that and if they had forgotten to breathe.

…

PS: If someone out there wanted to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

#dc x dp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #dp #danny fenton #ghost king danny

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headspace-hotel · 1 year

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Proposed logging project in the Daniel Boone National Forest (South-Central Kentucky, USA)

I found out about this recently and Ive seen barely any discussion or attention about it in real life or on the internet, so hopefully I can attract more attention

The USA Forest Service is planning to log 10,000 acres of the Daniel Boone National Forest near Jellico Mountain, near the Kentucky-Tennessee border. The plan includes around 1,000 acres of clear cutting.

We need mature forests to remove and store carbon from the atmosphere. This is disastrous from a climate change perspective.

The excuse being given (apart from the obvious economic incentive of logging) is that the tract is mostly "mature forest" and that the forest needs to have a "diversity of age classes" for wildlife. This is total bullshit, since less than 1% of old growth forest in the Eastern USA remains, and an 80-year-old forest is still incredibly young. This type of reasoning is greenwashing.

To make matters worse, the planned logging is on mountain tops, which will cause huge amounts of erosion and possible floods and landslides that endanger the people who live in the valleys below.

Kentucky experienced a deadly flash flood in the eastern mountains that killed 40 people last year. Forests help stop flash flooding by absorbing rainfall in a dense layer of roots and soil, draining it slowly into waterways; without them, mud and rainwater goes rushing straight into narrow mountain gullies rapidly, causing dangerous floods.

Mud and sediment rushing into streams also kills fish and aquatic life that need clear, clean stream water.

Kentucky has one of the most biodiverse freshwater ecosystems in the entire world, with only a couple states next to it having more freshwater species. Kentucky's forest streams have fresh water fish, crustaceans and other species found nowhere else on Earth.

The Southeastern USA has the most diverse freshwater life of any place on Earth, the most salamander diversity of any place on Earth, and the Appalachian Mountains are a global hotspot of biodiversity, considered one of the world's most biodiverse temperate deciduous forest habitats.

It is crucial that we begin building the old-growth forests of the future NOW!

Logging these forest tracts will facilitate invasive species to take over. Mature forests form buffer zones against invasive species. The forest will never grow back the way it was; it will be infected with Kudzu, Autumn Olive, Honeysuckle and other invasives that take advantage of the destruction and prevent the normal process of forest succession from happening as it should.

If you live anywhere near this area, talk to everyone around you about this, send them the links above and encourage them to do the same themselves.

Talk to your friends, your neighbors, people at your church, everyone you are in contact with or speak to in your day to day life. Tell them about the risks of flash flooding and landslides and the importance of preserving mature forest land. Any environmental clubs and organizations you know of, tell them as well.

Most people haven't even heard this is happening, and that's how they get away with it.

Public outrage protects priceless habitats all the time, so TELL EVERYONE YOU KNOW. Tell people you don't know, even. Call and email organizations and people that might be interested, until you run into someone who has an idea of what to do. That's how change happens!

#boost #kentucky #conservation #logging #protect our forests #climate change mitigation #usa

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tobiasdrake · 5 days

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Thinking about redemption yesterday got me thinking about fallen heroes today, and how rare it is to see a character initially painted as a hero be driven to heinousness for legitimate reasons.

Often times, if a hero goes bad, it's because of an external force corrupting their mind. Or it's a misunderstanding and they were secretly still good all along. Or they were just having a rough day and they'll be good again in five minutes.

We rarely see get to see heroes go sour purely on their own merits. Maybe because their values weren't so benign as they'd seemed when pushed to a natural conclusion. Maybe because they expected too much of themselves or of others. Or maybe personal experience taught them to believe something else.

Whatever the case, as often as writers will attempt to examine the transformative power of better angels, we rarely get to see the transformative power of worse devils.

Which brings me to....

Sayaka Miki is a character that holds a special place in my heart, not for overcoming her flaws but for being consumed by them. She's a cautionary tale into the perils of righteousness.

I need to preface this by bringing up that the characters of Madoka Magica are children. They're irrational, judgmental, ignorant of risk, and quick to throw themselves into horrible mistakes with absolute confidence. Because they're children. That's how this works. The villain of the series is a psychological predator who feeds on the impulsivity and poor judgment of youth, grooming them into self-destruction.

The entire system of Magical Girls exists to give these children enough rope to hang themselves with and then to kick the ladder out from under them. That is the plot, with Sayaka being the primary means by which the show demonstrates the complete journey from rope to ladder.

I just. I need you to understand that even at her worst, Sayaka is a victim of predatory incentives and calculated coercions meant to cultivate her worst traits while stripping her of hopes and dreams. To drown her in mistakes she could never take back. She didn't have the life experience to know better. That's why her predator targets children.

Sayaka's rope is woven from virtuous self-image. It's not immediately apparent when we meet her, but Sayaka's fatal flaw is ego. Her moral compass is wound extremely tight, and it's only later that we realize it's wound around her neck.

Like many children, Sayaka is trying on an identity moreso than expressing her inner self. She wants to be altruistic. She wants to be selfless. She wants to be a true hero. She wants to live by nothing more than high-minded ideals, expecting no reward for her efforts (but receiving it all the same).

She wants to be the kind of person that Mami was.

But she has no idea who Mami was. She wasn't there to see Mami fracture. To see her break down in vulnerability and express the isolating misery she lives in.

Sayaka didn't see that. She only saw how cool Mami looked when she was killing Witches. So when she tries on an identity, she's specifically trying on the identity of Mami - blissfully unaware that her interpretation of Mami was nothing but a mask. She is emulating the behavior of a victim already consumed by the predatory incentives she's accepting.

Sayaka was doomed from the moment she made her wish.

Once again, the show does a brilliant job of concealing this at first. Right off the bat, it's easy for Sayaka to be the hero. She saves both her BFFs Madoka and Hitomi from a Witch in her debut adventure, before being immediately thrust into a moral argument that's super easy for her to win.

This is what a hero looks like! Should we stand by and let monsters eat people YES/NO

Sayaka says no. Sayaka says letting monsters eat people is bad. Solid Bioware-level moral dilemma she's got here. Sayaka won +10 Paragon points for the choices she picked out of this conversation tree, lemme tell you!

Moments like this work to disguise what's going on here with Sayaka. Obviously Sayaka's making good choices and doing the right thing when the alternative is Kyoko going "Want me to break your crush's limbs so he needs you for life support?" That's awful, so since Sayaka's against it then that means she must be right. Right?

Kyoko is the devil. Sayaka is the paragon.

But this is a story about nuanced and complex people. Sayaka isn't that person. Sayaka likes the idea of being that person. She's being dishonest - With herself, with others around her, and with the universe.

She's trying on an identity, not fully understanding who she really is or what her limitations are.

Incidentally, so is Kyoko, which is what makes their Yin and Yang dichotomy so potent. Having never been tested like this before, Sayaka is more selfish than she truly understands - While Kyoko, damaged by trauma, is more selfless than she wants to believe.

The thing Sayaka doesn't quite grasp is that, to an extent, it's okay to be selfish. It's okay to want things for yourself. Again, the identity she's trying to live up to was a lie to begin with. She only saw the mask; Never the humanity underneath. So she fails to recognize her own humanity; Her own needs and wants and desires.

She imprisons her own mind in a cage of altruism.

Sayaka is warned multiple times against spending her wish on another person. But she doesn't understand the perils of it. She lacks the necessary perspective to grasp the level of sacrifice she's making. (Because she is a child. I cannot stress this point enough.)

When she makes her wish, Sayaka wants her sacrifice reciprocated. She wants to be rewarded. But she doesn't want to want that. She wants to be the selfless hero for Kyosuke. To silently grant him a miracle because it's the right thing to do for her friend. But she expects, without consciously thinking about it, that the universe will deliver her nice things because she is good.

But life doesn't work like that. It doesn't give you things you aren't willing to reach for. Sayaka said she just wanted him to be happy. She just wanted to help people. She just wanted to dedicate her life to virtue and altruism, with no wants or needs or desires of her own.

Kyoko was being cruel and unfeeling when she suggested crippling Kyosuke; She was trying to express a mask of selfishness, the same way Sayaka's been trying to express a mask of selflessness. But she wasn't the only person telling Sayaka that it was a mistake to do this. She's just the only person who said it after the fact.

So the universe calls her bluff. While Sayaka waits for her sacrifices to be rewarded, fracturing more and more from learning what those sacrifices truly entail, someone else claims her prize. The work gets harder, not just physically but emotionally. And she only gets what she asked for. Nothing more.

This is what a hero looks like. She wanted to be Mami.

Remind me. What was Mami's reward for her sacrifices?

Oh. Yeah. That's right.

The thing of it is, there is a reward for a Magical Girl's sacrifices. There is a prize you're meant to receive for the unjust hardships and self-destruction that you're volunteering to undertake.

It's the fucking wish.

That she, in her righteousness, gave away.

Sayaka's rope is woven from virtuous self-image. Her fatal flaw is ego. She was undone by arrogance expressed in ignorance, not of glory the way we often think of egotistic people, but of righteousness. She held herself to a standard no reasonable person could ever live up to, and it crushed her as it came crashing down.

And yet, she was a victim all the same. Because she was walked, hand-in-hand, to that pier by a predator. Children are meant to learn from their mistakes. Not to die for them.

#puella magi madoka magica #sayaka miki

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unbidden-yidden · 7 months

Note

My (non-Jewish) anthropology professor made a really incorrect statement about the idea of Jews as “God’s chosen people”. When I (also non-Jewish but try to keep informed) corrected him, he brought up something else that sounded wrong to me: supposedly only Reform Judaism allows for conversion? I didn’t know enough to contest it at the time, but that really does not sound true to my ear, from the way I’ve heard Jewish people talk about it. Is there any truth to that?

Yeah, the Chosen People thing is often wildly and antisemitically misinterpreted to mean "We think we're G-d's Specialest Selected Elite People and the only people G-d actually loves and cares about" -- which like. Could not be further from the truth. What it actually means is: We were selected to do the project of the mitzvot of the Torah, which is a lot of extra homework that other people don't need to do but someone needs to do it. It's a lot more like "chosen to do the dishes" of the spiritual world than "chosen to be special." Now. Is there definitely some pride of place in doing the extra work? Sure! But at the same time, Jewish eschatology has always made room for non-Jews. We absolutely think non-Jews who live good lives and are decent, moral people have a solid place in the world to come. We aren't angling for a everyone to become Jewish because, kind of by definition, not everyone needs to do the ritual mitzvot. Live ethical lives and be decent to each other and us? Sure. Lay tefillin and daven three times a day and (during the Temple times) offer sacrifices and wave lulav fronds during Sukkot and eat matzah on Pesach and keep kosher and keep Shabbat? Etc.? Nope, that's our task and ours alone.

Now! If you feel personally called to living a life of Torah and believe that you have a Jewish soul and should be made part of Am Yisrael, the Jewish people, you can go through the lengthy process of conversion and (essentially) become a member of the Tribe? Yeah, you can do that. You better be real sure and go into it eyes open. You're going to need to be persistent and dedicated to studying and being present in the community. It's not encouraged, and traditionally rabbis would turn someone asking to convert away three times before accepting them as a student to make sure they were serious. In modern times, most rabbis are a bit more welcoming, but will still push you to seriously consider why you want to be Jewish. If the answer is still yes for you, then you can do it, if you must. Most gerim (converts) describe an experience very similar to how transgender folks describe our gender journeys - we can't be any other way, and wouldn't want to be. I'm both a convert and trans, and my sense of understanding myself as both non-binary and as a Jew are deeply held and equally compelling.

All branches of rabbinic Judaism accept converts. Some have a more strenuous process than others, and some take on very few converts. The more traditional the movement, the more likely it is that the person will be encouraged to explore other options. The reason for this is that the more traditional the movement, the more serious they take the binding nature of the commandments, and therefore adding another Jew (especially one who has so much to learn in a comparatively short time rather than being raised in it) is a risk that the person will revert back to their old ways or find something else later. Since we are judged collectively (Torah is a group project) and the future world to come hinges on us scrupulously observing the mitzvot (according to the more traditional movements) it is imperative that any late additions to the People be very serious and rigorous in their observance.

The liberal movements are a lot less intense about that, although it's also a spectrum. The Reform movement does not hold the ritual mitzvot to be binding, only the ethical mitzvot. They therefore lack the same incentive to avoid failed conversions. The Conservative/Masorti movement and some of the other traditional egalitarian communities do hold the mitzvot as binding, but are a lot more flexible about their expectations that everyone follow them. It's a lot more of a "do your best; we're here to support you" vibe. (That's my branch that I converted through.)

Each branch, to be clear, has their strengths and weaknesses, their merits and their drawbacks. Every Jew brings something to the table. The Reform movement (and similarly liberal smaller movements) are probably the most welcoming to gerim and have the fewest hoops to jump through, but every branch has a process and some amount of converts. Those that choose a more traditional movement typically support, respect, and value the extra hoops of the traditional movements and are willing to work within that system; at least that's how it was for me. I wanted it to be rigorous so that I was prepared and certain; I got that out of my giyur process. Other people have different needs and value systems that are equally valid.

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the-wip-project · 4 months

Text

SloMo WriNo: The Writing Habit

You’re going to get tired of hearing me say this, but when it comes to finishing your writing (or getting pretty much any long term project accomplished) habit is everything.

A solid writing habit will get you through those days when writing feels boring, when you’re tired, uninspired, lost. Habit is the magic that makes the writing train go— more often than most people want to admit.

That said, establishing a new habit can be fiendishly difficult— especially if you have a neurodivergent brain. (This is coming from personal experience, as someone who took literal years to establish the habit of brushing my teeth before bed. (I still frequently have agonies about washing my face at the same time.))

So. How to establish a solid writing habit?

Step one is finding the time.

Your writing does not require large blocks of time. You can write productively in as little as fifteen minutes a day (yes, really!) but the only way that gets accomplished is by making it fast and simple to get into your writing headspace.

How though?

By making it a routine at a similar time and place each day, by creating rituals that cue you that it’s writing time, or by attaching your writing to another established habit. Ideally your writing habit will combine all three.

Yes, flexibility is important, because every routine has variations in it, so being able to write even when you don’t have everything just right is important. But if in the past you’ve struggled to keep writing as a consistent part of your life, then creating a routine is the best first step to creating a habit.

Connecting your writing to another, enjoyable habit is good first step. Writing while you take your morning coffee break, or during your headphones on commute time, or along side your lunchtime treat might be all you need to create a positive association. You want writing time to be something you look forward to, not dread.

By keeping the session short (Somehow setting a timer for a number less than thirty makes even the most scary tasks feel approachable for me.) and adding something pleasant and relaxing to the mix you can start to build that positivity. I think this is why so many writers like to write with a cup of tea, or in coffee shops. Adding a delicious beverage habit cues your mind that this is writing time, and what’s more, that writing is a pleasant time taken just for one’s self.

It also makes a huge difference to write at a time when your brain feels good.

I have tried writing later in the evening, and every moment feels like work. My brain is tired, and all I want to do is relax, not think. It feels like I’ve already used up all my energy and motivation.

Instead I like to wake early to write. This might sound like torture for all you night owls, but for me, (and plenty of other people) writing has become a keystone to healthy morning habits. Knowing that I’m going to wake by 5am in order to write is an incentive for me to be in bed by 9:30, (instead of staying up late to doom scroll, eat junk food and make other poor decisions) which helps me wake up with the right level of brain activity to write, which then makes me energetic enough to head out on my morning run directly after writing. Which means all the ideas from my writing session float around in my head in a pleasant soup, distracting me from the monotony of feet hitting ground. It’s a string of positive associations that keeps me happy and healthy.

For you the opposite might be true. Perhaps you find yourself in a peaceful writerly head space after the rest of your household is asleep, or while taking a break at work or school. The key is to find a time and/or place that’s low friction, when the obstacles to writing are less, when getting to your keyboard (or notebook if you’re old-school) feels less like work and maybe even like a reward, and then build out other positive associations around it.

If you’re used to viewing writing as something painful and difficult this might seem alien to you. So let me just add this: your words are not worth more because you were miserable when writing them. It’s not only okay to enjoy your writing time, it’s preferable. Sure you’ll connect a bit less to the writing is misery memes, but it’s worth it, I promise!

So, here is your assignment for the week: Take a look at your schedule and figure out what times might be convenient for regularly scheduled writing. And then try them out and see if you can find a time and place where writing feels good. You might have to move some other activities around to find that sweet spot, (like me, moving my bed time to allow morning writing time) and expect some stalls, some fails and lack of consistency. It’s not going to feel good all the time immediately, and you will need to will power your way through at times. But overall, once you can start forming that positive habit, the writing will become far easier to get to. And much more enjoyable when you do.

—Maree

Subscribe to my substack to make sure you don't miss a post, chat with me on the WIP Project discord, and tag any posts you make about the challenge with #slomowrino if you want me to see them!

#slomowrino #writing advice #writing as a habit

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ellethespaceunicorn · 1 year

Note

Teasing the hell out of Charles Brandon or Henry Cavill to the point they make the reader pay😘❤️

I picked Charles Brandon because The Tudors was a whole thing for me, like I fell in love with the entire cast but also with Henry’s delicious ass. I remember the first time I saw it onscreen and just about passed out. Hims got cakes! And Charles had redeeming qualities so it was sort of easy to forgive him for being a dick. Anyways, here’s a shameless piece of smut!!

Title: Doing Something Unholy

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Charles Brandon x Reader

Fandom: The Tudors

Summary: This is a prompt fill for @thereisa8ella who wanted some teasing of Charles Brandon and then him taking over. Enjoy!

Warnings: oral sex (m receiving), fingerfucking (f receiving), cock worship, orgasm denial (m receiving), unprotected p-in-v sex, ball handling, choking, creampie

A/N: Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

My Masterlist

You awake to sunlight streaming in through the open curtains, a heavy weight across your middle, and soft snores rumbling in your ear. The musky odor of sex still lingers in the air and its heady scent goes right to your core. Shifting to your other side, you come face to face with a still-sleeping Charles Brandon.

This man was a god, how else could he be explained? That chiseled jaw, sinister smile, eyes like the ocean…and that’s just his perfect face. Below the neck, he was just as exquisite. Abdominals like sculpted marble, legs like strong tree trunks, and a cock like a third arm. Yes, he deserves to be worshipped. But you deserve your fun too.

You press on Charles’ shoulder to get him to lie on his back, waiting until his snores return. You shift down the bedding so it just comes to his thighs and marvel at this man’s body once again. You inch closer to him, throwing a leg over his chest so your face hovers over his groin.

You lean down and kiss his hips, snaking your tongue out to taste his freckles. Using your tongue, you draw a line down his Adonis belt to where it meets his cock. You place sweet kisses along the shaft and that stirs the Duke of Suffolk. He only moves his hips slightly and groans at first, but as you take him into your mouth, he fully awakes.

“What a beautiful view, who knew the sun rose at the same time as the moon?” He punctuates his sentence with a solid grip on both your asscheeks.

Letting his hardening cock slip from your mouth, you wiggle your hips in his face. He gets the hint soon enough, his deft fingers finding your folds and getting to work. You suck him down again and his digits slip inside. Your moans guide his ministrations, his grunts and thrusts highlighting that you have him right where you want him.

You ride Charles’ fingers until you feel the familiar break in your resolve, walls fluttering as he fucks you through your orgasm. You pause in your worship of Charles’ cock but with some incentive of his hand pushing on the back of your head, you get back to work. It’s then when you get the idea to edge him, something you’ve never done with him. First time for everything, right?

You take him to the hilt, your rose brushing his hairy sac, inhaling his musk. You swallow around him in your throat while playing with his balls, all while starting to ride his fingers again. You roll his balls between your fingers, moaning around his girth to elicit vibrations. When you feel the telltale ripple in the shaft, you pull off and squeeze his base. His orgasm is effectively ruined, and he can barely move as you cum again around his fingers.

You: 2. Charles: 0.

You’re coming down from your high as Charles is landing a sharp slap to your swollen and sensitive clit. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?” You don’t have time to catch yourself as he throws you across the bed and slots himself between your thighs. Charles places his hands under each knee and pushes your legs into your chest, opening you fully for his enjoyment. He’s hard enough to enter you in one swift motion, your slippery folds welcoming him into their tight heat. “Trying to tease me, were you, love?”

“I don’t…know what…you mean,” Your words are cut off by deep and sure thrusts, your inner walls thoroughly stimulated.

“Where did my good girl go? Who is this temptress who denies me her warmth?” His pupils dilated, and he looks like a feral beast, wanting to claim his prize.

“Still…here,” You moan, failing to convince him of your innocence.

“No, she’s not here,” He wraps a hand around your neck and leans down to whisper into your ear, “You’re doing so well taking my cock, but I want to try something new. And you, my little spunk dump, are gonna take it.” He leans up and kisses the tip of your nose before tightening his grip on your neck and pounding into you until your combined grunts and wet slaps of skin are all there is to hear.

He holds your gaze, even when your eyes start to lose focus. He lets go of your neck as his hips stutter in their rhythm. You gasp for air as another orgasm rocks through you. Charles follows soon after, painting your walls with his heavy spend. He collapses on your chest without pulling out, your panting breaths the only sound in the room.

He leans back to look at you, utterly spent and exhausted. He pulls himself out of you slowly, watching his load leak out of you. He slaps the head of his dick against your sore clit a few times, earning him a satisfying whimper from your lips. He runs a hand between the valley of your breasts and leans up to kiss you and nuzzle your nose.

“Am I still your good girl?” You plead, not fully wanting to forget you got the upper hand on Charles.

“Hmmmm,” He draws it out, making it seem like he is thinking hard on the matter before chucking at your pout, “Of course you are! You will be my good girl forever, don’t you worry that pretty little head.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” You breathed, feeling satisfied and happy with how you spent your morning.

A/N: First time writing for Charles Brandon, he is fun to tease! Hope you enjoyed it!

**Tag List**

@enchantedbytomandhenry

Let me know if you wanna be added and for what plz! 😁

#charles brandon #the tudors #henry cavill #henry cavill characters #ellethespaceunicorn fanfic #ask reply #charles brandon x reader #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x you smut #charles brandon x you #henry cavill smut #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #ellethespaceunicorn prompt fill

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angelltheninth · 6 months

Text

Please Say, Please

Pairing: James "Bucky" Barnes x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, edging, fingering, begging, overstimulation, cunnilingus, no touching (for Reader), control, dom!Bucky

Word count: 1k

A/N: Written for the Seven Deadly Sins collab hosted by @nickfowlerrr. The virtue I chose is "patience".

Bucky smiled while he undressed you, both with his hands and his eyes at once, but of course you were much more excited about the hands part. "Am I a Christmas gift? Why are you being so careful?" You took maters into your own hands and unhooked your bra, but he was the one who fully removed it from your breasts. "I think you like me more like this."

"I like any kind of way." He kissed right above your collarbone while his hands traveled the underside of your breasts, hot and cold at the same time. You weren't nearly as patient as he wanted you to be, running your hands through his hair and guiding his mouth to your left nipple, which he took into his mouth almost immediately.

You hooked your fingers on his belt and pulled him close, taking him with you onto the bed. From there your hands unzipped his pants, your eyes hungerly running down his abs, to the faint happy trail leading to what you needed most right now. His cock was already hard, tenting his boxers, warm under your palm, twitching at your touch, at each stroke. You wanted to lick him so badly, take him in your mouth and just-

"Stop." Bucky managed to say, his voice strained and growly, eyes closing. "Keep those pretty hands to yourself ma'am." He grabbed them both with his right hand, leaving the left to rub from one nipple to the next. "Tonight is all about you. That means you just lay there, and let me do the work." A statement neither you or his dick seemed to agree with. "I'll make it all worth your while. I promise." His lips moved lower down your stomach, "All I ask for is for you to be patient."

"You're not making it easy." There was already a dark stain forming on your underwear from his kisses.

"That is the idea love." You could feel the stubble pressing into the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, tickling you, "Let's take these off shall we, see what kind of state I've got you in." He pressed his middle fingers past the sides of your panties and pulled them down your legs, blue eyes locked on your newly naked pussy. "Oh. So wet already. Seems I was right, you have a lot to learn about patience."

With that much wetness his metal finger slipped in quite easily, the cold making you hiss when it entered your warm walls. It was okay, it was always cold at first, but just a few minutes of this and he'll be warmed up for you. At least the finger going in and out of your pussy will, the one on your clit, his thumb, would remain cold. Then there was his warm breath, teasing you.

He made room for himself between your legs, it was easy when he had you so compliant. You tried your best to listen to what he said, keep his hands to yourself, but it wasn't an easy task when his tongue licked a long, slow stripe from his finger to your clit and sucked on it.

"Mm, I can see you sweetheart. Hands at your sides, or I stop this immediately." You hated how easily he could make you listen. No other threats were needed other than that but you... you had to hold onto something. Thinking quickly you grabbed onto the headboard, your wrist one across the other as if your hands were tied. In a way there were, "Good girl. There's my good girl. I knew you'd listen if I just," Bucky placed a long, sucking kiss onto your clit, making starts dance in front of your face, "gave you a little bit of incentive."

"Bucky, I need... need... cock... your..." You were still struggling to find your words but Bucky didn't halt, he kept pushing his finger in and out, watching your pussy flutter around it. You didn't know when he kicked his boxers off, probably while your vision was still blurry but now that his cock was out you knew it wouldn't be long before it was inside you where it should have been long ago.

"Need what? You could be polite and ask." Ask how when every noise that leaves your mouth is a wonton moan. "Please, let me hear you ask for it. You've been patient, now I want you to do this one last thing: ask for my cock."

"Please Bucky, please give me your cock. I've been good, I've been so good for you." Your patience, as fragile as it was when you started was almost at an end. Lucky for you Bucky was quick to reward it before he could see how disobedient and desperate for him you actually were.

His cock pushed inside of you quickly, he just as needy as you but much more in control of himself, his thrusts even and deep, quickly finding a pace that suited him best. Both his hands pressed down on your hips, there would be no movement from you until he says so, no finishing for you until he says so. You were at his mercy, the mercy of his hands and his cock, making you a pathetic sobbing, whining mess.

While you wouldn't disobey hum it was hard not to, especially when his thumb was back on your sensitive, swollen clit. You whimpered loud as your cunt clenched around him, inching closer to your orgasm despite your best efforts to hold out for him.

"Hold out just a bit longer darling. I need to make sure you've learned. If it takes all night, I'll make sure you learn a thorough lesson in patience." Bucky growled, his cock on the edge of release, edging both of you, giving you as much control over him as he had of you.

As they say: patience is a virtue. But right now to you, to both of you, it was nothing short of a deadly sin.

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clangenrising · 4 months

Text

Month 10 - Leafbare

Scorch was antsy. The world seemed to be both slipping out of her reach and closing in all around her at the same time.

Ever since Nightfrost’s funeral, Yarrowshade hadn’t so much as tried to speak to her outside of what was necessary for patrols. A guilty voice in the back of her head said, “this is your fault. You drove him away.” She tried to shrug it off. If she had managed to drive him away so easily then she didn’t need him in her life anyway. Still, her heart sank every time his gaze found her and then moved immediately away.

After Russetfrond had returned with the news of the mouse tail, new evidence of Razor’s hunters had come in every day. Paw prints in the snow came up to the border but almost never crossed it. They left bits of prey where it could be found, never more than a mouthful but enough to make the point clear - he was going to starve the Clans out until they either gave in to his demands or became weak enough that he could take what he wanted by force.

She had seen him do it before on a smaller scale. He would forbid cats from sharing food with an individual until they came to him on their bellies begging for forgiveness. It always worked, without fail, and seeing someone suffer like that was a good incentive for other cats to stay on his good side, her included.

It was only a matter of time before he came scratching at their door, so to speak, and it made her want to head for the hills. If she left in the night, how far could she make it before sunrise? No… She would surely freeze, and that, she told herself, was the only reason she didn’t go.

Goldenstar crossed the camp towards her and she almost laughed at herself. What a pathetic liar you are.

“Hey,” Goldenstar said, “You doing alright?” Goldenstar seemed nervous, which she had been ever since Scorch had stormed off and come back to camp late at night. It was like she’d been walking on eggshells, afraid that if she said the wrong thing Scorch would storm off again and never come back. Given her prior train of thought, Scorch supposed it wasn’t an unrealistic assumption, but still, it was a little annoying. She almost preferred Razor’s heavy-pawed attempts to keep eyes on her over whatever this was - at least that she understood and could anticipate.

“I’m fine,” she shrugged. “A bit restless.”

“Do you want to go hunting?” Goldenstar offered, chewing her lip. Scorch managed to keep her expression impassive but the nervousness was starting to irritate her.

“I suppose,” she said, glancing away. Goldenstar shuffled awkwardly. What had happened to her? Scorch had no idea what had transformed the brash and careless cat who had welcomed her into such a simpering kit but she didn’t like it. She really hoped it had nothing to do with her connection to Razor. Surely, Goldenstar wasn’t trying to avoid his wrath by treading carefully with her.

“Um, okay,” Goldenstar said after a beat. “I was thinking we could try the creek, see if there’s anything around.”

Scorch sighed and stretched, arching her tail over her head with a disinterested yawn. “Sure, why not. Maybe we’ll see a single bird.” Goldenstar gave a breathy laugh and Scorch barely stopped herself from frowning. Ugh, why was she being so insufferable?

“Hopefully we’ll catch more than that,” said Goldenstar as they started out of camp.

“We’ll have to see,” shrugged Scorch. “I’d hate to have to fight Fogkit for my evening meal.” Goldenstar laughed again, this time more genuinely, and Scorch allowed herself to smile.

“Yeah,” she said, “we’d all starve! That Fogkit could take the whole Clan on single-pawed.” Scorch huffed a laugh through her nose and tried to pretend that things were normal again.

“We could outwit her, I think,” she said. “Our brains together, she wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Yeah,” Goldenstar said with that same breathy laugh and Scorch’s smile faded. Dammit. Sighing, she turned her face forward to focus on the cold ground ahead of her. The snow had mostly melted except for where it laid in shadow or had fallen particularly thickly and the world was a stretch of ugly brown grass and frozen mud which did nothing to help her sour mood.

Goldenstar fell quiet, possibly sensing her annoyance, and, for a moment, Scorch wanted to apologize but she killed that thought immediately. Goldenstar was the one being weird, why should she feel bad for being rightfully upset?

For a while they walked in silence until Goldenstar spoke up again. “Uh, hey. I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Scorch glanced at her with an aloof lift of her brows.

“Uh, I don’t know,” Goldenstar laughed nervously. “For being weird? I can’t help but feel like you’re mad at me.”

Scorch briefly considered denying it but decided she didn’t have the energy. “I mean, a bit yeah. You keep acting like you’re afraid you’ll upset me. It’s annoying.” She ignored the fact that she had done the same thing for months. At least she had the good sense to try and hide it.

“Oh,” Goldenstar winced. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Why?” Scorch asked.

“Huh?”

Scorch shook her head with another sigh. “Why have you been acting so weird? Is it because I’m not talking to Yarrowshade?”

“No,” Goldenstar shook her head, “although you probably should.”

“He seems content to forget about me,” Scorch rolled her eyes.

“Maybe,” Goldenstar said, “But I think he’s just being an idiot.”

“Him?” Scorch feigned disbelief. “No…”

Goldenstar laughed and said, “I know, I know, but it's true. He tends to deal with his problems by pretending they don’t exist.”

“I see,” Scorch hummed. “I didn’t realize I had become one of his problems.”

Goldenstar blushed and hurriedly tried to say, “Oh, I didn’t mean-”

Scorch cut her off. “I know what you meant. It was a joke.”

“Oh.” Goldenstar blushed harder. “Sorry.” Scorch sighed under her breath and flicked an ear to dismiss the topic. She couldn’t find the energy to come up with a verbal response. Goldenstar continued, “But also, I told him to give you some space and I think he’s taking it the wrong way.”

“Why did you say that?” Scorch tilted her head, intrigued.

“He explained that you were upset that he chose Nightfrost over you and I told him to just give you some time.”

“He said that?” Scorch frowned skeptically.

“Well… Not exactly.” Goldenstar winced. “He said you were ignoring him and he didn’t know why but when he described when it started I kind of put the pieces together.” That revelation made Scorch’s chest tighten. She hadn’t realized Goldenstar could read her so accurately. It made sense but it still made her uncomfortable in her own skin, like someone had suddenly torn away the cardboard box she was hiding behind, leaving her exposed on the cold, empty street.

“Mm,” was all she said.

“He cares a lot about you,” Goldenstar tried gently. “He didn’t realize he was being asked to choose, you know.”

Scorch’s ear twitched. “The choices we make unconsciously are often the most revealing.”

“And sometimes they aren’t actual choices,” Goldenstar said. “Not everything is all or nothing. Yarrowshade loved Nightfrost and he loves you. Those things can both be true at once.”

Scorch found anger building in her jaw. “I don’t recall asking for a lecture, Goldie.”

“Sorry,” Goldenstar sighed. “I just hate to see you two fighting.”

“So don’t watch,” Scorch said.

“It’s not that simple,” Goldenstar said with characteristic stubbornness. “What am I supposed to do when you decide that I have to choose between you and Yarrowshade? Or you and Russetfrond? Am I supposed to abandon my friends to make you happy?”

“Maybe,” Scorch shrugged, feeling contrary. She knew that was unreasonable but so what? Maybe she wanted to hear someone would choose her over another every time! Was that so selfish?

Definitionally, said the voice in her head.

Fine, she thought back, maybe I’m selfish, then.

“You don’t really think that,” Goldenstar said and Scorch felt like she was hoping saying it would make it true.

“So what if I do?” she said, quickening her stride. “Does that make me a monster?”

“No,” Goldenstar said, keeping pace, “I just feel like you would be upset if I asked you to do the same.”

“Then you don’t really know me,” Scorch said. “If you asked me to choose between two people I would choose myself every time.”

“Scorch…” Goldenstar murmured.

“I always have,” she pressed on. “Just ask your precious ‘Aldertail’. I am nothing if not consistent.”

She didn’t know why she was saying this. Her throat was starting to tighten in anticipatory grief, almost like her body was trying to stop her voice from reaching Goldenstar’s ears. Still she continued for some reason. Maybe, she thought, this would be the last straw and Goldenstar would finally show Scorch exactly who she would choose. At least then she would know the truth, be able to be confident that she wasn’t being lied to.

“People can change,” Goldenstar said, leaning closer. “I’ve always believed that.”

Scorch laughed in her face. “You have no idea how little you know, Goldie. Cats don’t change.”

“They can,” Goldenstar pressed, her eyes painfully compassionate. “If given a reason to, they can decide to be different. To be better.”

“Well, we’ll have to agree to disagree,” Scorch said tersely. “Look, there’s the creek.” Goldenstar turned to spot the little trickle of water running between a few small trees and sighed in defeat. Scorch grinned triumphantly but the victory was hollow. She couldn’t help but wish Goldenstar was right. Sadly, she knew the truth. She could not change just like Ghost could not change, just like Razor could not change. They were creatures of habit, all of them.

We deserve each other, she thought bitterly.

Without another word, the two of them split off to go hunting along the creek bed. It was unpleasant work, especially in places where the mud was less frozen than expected and squelched in between her freezing toes.

Goldenstar managed to catch a vole and Scorch felt sick when she turned around to grin proudly at her before she remembered their argument and the smile fell off her face. It’s alright! she wanted to say, Forgive me for what I said! Please love me again! Some prideful stubbornness kept her lips sealed.

She wandered southward along the creek, her mouth open to the scents of water plants and little beasts. Yarrowshade and Barleypaw had been here recently, Sagetooth and Pantherhaze sometime before then. She turned away from the creek, towards the EarthClan border, hoping to find a space free from reminders of her Clanmates.

“Hey, don’t go too far!” Goldenstar called but she didn’t listen. She wanted to be alone. Maybe Goldenstar would take her own advice and give her some space. The sound of pawsteps behind her implied the opposite. She quickened her pace.

As she walked, a new smell reached her jaws. It was familiar and meaty, the kind of meat that humans liked, with vegetables and sauce and a funny aftertaste. The familiarity drew her in like a warm blanket. In all of the frustrating novelty of her situation, some cheap familiarity seemed just the thing to ease her mind. Ahead of her, on a little blue dish in the back of a silver trap, she located the source of the smell. She padded up to it, pacing around the trap, sniffing at the food from the other side of the bars. The smell was so pungent it made her mouth water.

“Scorch!” Goldenstar cried, bounding up beside her. “What are you doing?!”

“Hunting,” Scorch purred smugly, eyes locked on her target. Tentatively, she poked at the back of the trap. Every so often, she had been able to pry the back off just enough to scatter the food on the dish and get a bite.

“That’s not hunting, it's one of those things that took Toadpaw!” Goldenstar hissed quietly, glancing around like a human would swoop down on them any second. The back of the trap was solid and, not wanting to get her leg stuck, Scorch began stalking towards the entrance of the trap.

“It’s got food in it, doesn’t it?” Scorch asked. “Trust me, I’ve dealt with these before, I know what I’m doing.” She poked her head inside and sniffed around. Sometimes, there was a trail of food leading you deeper but it seemed like the folk had been sparing with their lure.

“W- Don’t go inside it!” Goldenstar squeaked in distress.

“You’re adorable,” Scorch laughed, causing Goldenstar to blush deeply. “Look, as long as I don’t touch the ground in the back, I’ll be fine. Watch and learn.” Carefully, she crept into the trap, sniffing cautiously at each step before she took it.

“Scorch, please come out,” Goldenstar begged, hovering nearby.

“No, I don’t think I will,” hummed Scorch. She craned her neck forward to try and reach the dish. Sometimes the food was close enough you could snag the whole dish without getting caught but it seemed like the folk who set this trap had thought of that too. She frowned.

“It’s not worth it,” Goldenstar fretted. “We’ll catch more prey, we don’t need the two-leg food.”

“Can you please be quiet and let me think?” Scorch snapped, turning her head to glare at Goldenstar. Instantly, she knew she had made a mistake. The foot she had been carefully lifting had come down on the paper covering. She had been closer than she’d realized. The trap had been triggered.

The cage rattled as it closed and both she and Goldenstar leapt in fright at the sound. Somewhere off to the side, Scorch heard the sound of humans chattering. She grit her teeth and sighed through her nose. Stupid. Careless. Why had she done that? Something about Goldenstar managed to slip right past her logical brain and it had finally come back to bite her.

“Oh, no,” Goldenstar mumbled, staring with the most miserable expression. “No, no, no, this is my fault! Scorch, I’m so sorry, I- I didn’t mean to-” She pressed her paws up against the cage, searching its bars for a weakness to exploit or a way to get her free.

“Shut up, you moron,” Scorch sighed, pursing her lips against a bitter-sweet smile. Goldenstar looked up at her, tears beading along the bridge of her nose.

“Scorch, I-” she swallowed. Her mouth formed the shapes of several words before it settled on, “I’ll get you out of here. I promise, okay? I’ll find a way. I’m not going to leave you.” Scorch’s gut twisted when she realized she believed that Goldenstar meant it. She struggled to keep her own eyes from welling with tears.

“I know,” she lied with complete confidence. Her mind raced as a plan began to form. “You should go back to camp. Find someone else, someone strong. We might be able to pry it open if we have enough cat power.”

“Okay,” Goldenstar sniffed, smiling through her tears. “I will. I’ll be right back, just sit tight, okay?”

“Okay,” Scorch said. “I’ll be right here.” Goldenstar nodded and raced away, paws pounding over the dead grass as she disappeared up the hill. Once she had vanished from sight, Scorch let out a sigh and hunkered down to wait. The humans would be upon her soon. They were never far from the traps, especially in the winter. She could already hear them approaching from the trees that marked the border with EarthClan. At least, she thought, Goldenstar was long gone. She knew she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself if her mistake got the Clan's leader taken as well. Unlike Scorch, Goldenstar had cats who needed her.

Two humans arrived, crooning to her gently and talking softly between themselves. Scorch looked up at them and tried to smile in the most inviting way she could.

“Please,” she begged, the image of a polite and gentle cat, “have mercy.”

One of the humans produced a blanket and threw it over her cage, plunging the world into darkness. She sighed and braced herself for whatever was to come. It was nice while it lasted, she thought.

UPDATES: - While hunting with Goldenstar, Scorchplume is caught in a two-leg trap and taken away.

#clan gen #clangen #warrior cats #warriors #warrior cats oc #warriors oc #clangen oc #clan gen oc #Scorchplume #Goldenstar #Leafbare #Lost Cat #clangenrising

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nanfrost · 4 months

Text

An idea I have for a what-if Schneider survived, but with a slight twist. Might expand on this more with the right incentive.

It starts with Vertin in her own personal office in her suitcase, writing a new report for the Foundation. It has been months since the events of chapter 4 and Vertin is starting to get used to the new responsibilities and workload she has been given with her new position.

Today however, she was left all alone in the suitcase, a rarity these days after she had found a new family for herself. On this rare occasion, everyone seemed to be busy with something, leaving her all to her own devices. Even her trusted assistant who clings to her tightly like a puppy is nowhere to be seen either, for once having a matter she has to attend by herself.

So now, Vertin sits by herself, her report long since finished and finding herself immersing into the silence and quietness of her office.

It felt strange to her.

Just not too long ago, Vertin never paid attention to how silent her suitcase was. But now that she has a family, she realized just how empty things felt, and yet, it didn't necessarily bring her discomfort.

Instead, Vertin slightly smiles, partly out of appreciation of having some peace and quiet for herself after intense months of constantly working herself to the bone to accommodate for her new position, but also because she knows this silence is not permanent. That sooner than later, this place will be filled with noises and music again, and Vertin can talk to those she has grown far closer than anyone else in a very long time. That thought comforted Vertin.

And yet, she can't help but think to herself how it could be just a little nicer if a certain citrus scented girl was still around.

Her smile wanes, a tinge of sadness flash over her eyes.

It's silly isn't it? Vertin barely knew the girl, and yet she can't help but ponder about her every so often. Pondering about how things could have been, how things should have been.

Vertin knew nothing about Schneider, and at the same time she knew everything that mattered. That she was far too kind, too selfless, too loving to those around her to ever think about her own life.

Schneider was like her, and Vertin had really believed that she could save that girl. That she could give her a chance to live on and preserve her memories, and to find a way to move forward again after the Storm.

And yet, she failed, now left with nothing but memories she promises to preserve for as long as she lives. The memories of a girl so different to her, yet so similar all the same. The memories of a girl whose visage was that of a fluttering dove, one who imprints their impression onto you, only to vanish soon afterwards without another word. Stayed just enough to be remembered, gone far too quickly to truly be understood.

Vertin finds herself gazing at the distinctly folded clothes next to her desk, its crimson feathers still fluttering as if the one who once wore it still existed. The girl stood up and went towards the desk, her soft fingers gliding across the leather fabric of a coat far too big for the small woman.

She held it up to her chest, pressing the soft feathers gently onto herself as she closed her eyes briefly.

This wasn't anything strange to Vertin anymore, she had long made a habit to keep the belongings of her companions that were no longer present; a way to remember them.

But Scheneider had wished precisely for her to never forget her, and so she kept it close by instead of storing it carefully away with the others. Even if she knew she won't ever forget, Vertin wanted to make sure to herself, to be sure of herself that the girl whose memories still shine so brightly in her mind can continue to remain clear for however long possible. For a wish to stay fulfilled until Vertin can't remember no more.

Footsteps began to echo from far away, alerting Vertin as she opened her eyes once more. Her eyes misty, making it just a bit harder to see than usual. She wipes them away with her finger, before folding the clothes neatly again as she places them on the same position.

She hears a door creaked open, their footsteps now clearly audible inside her office. Vertin breathes out a short sigh, before turning to whoever was there, like someone from her crew or perhaps Sonetto, with the same stoic expression she always carries with her.

Except, the person that stood by the door was none of them, Vertin's neutral expression drops completely as her silver irises widen.

Standing beside the door frame was a small woman, her frame barely half the size of the wooden frame. Her frail yet still elegant body swayed ever so subtly, enough to communicate the fact that the girl was in fact there. That she was in fact present.

Schneider, the person Vertin has not forgotten, stood in front of her, their soft crimson eyes gazing back at Vertin.

This was an illusion right?

That's what Vertin immediately thought. It wouldn't be the first or last strange phenomenon to occur to her in this suitcase. She has seen many things before, albeit not something quite like this.

Yet, the figure moved forward, casting doubts onto Vertin's assumption as she stepped forward towards the gray-haired girl; her fingers grasping onto her chair ever so tightly.

"My lord?" The illusion spoke, their voice so awfully familiar. Can illusions really talk?

Vertin's hands began to tremble slightly, her eyes never once breaking away from nor blinked at her. She was frozen in the spot, staring at a perfect replica of the girl that shouldn't exist anymore. And yet, her voice felt so close, so palpable, she felt like she could reach for it right now and actually touch it.

Vertin wants to touch it, but this was still just an illusion. It has to be.

"My lord..." The illusion of Schneider broke her eyes away from Vertin for a moment, seemingly spotting something at the corner of her eyes. Was it the clothes? Can an illusion really pick up their surroundings like that, or is it just a trick? But a trick on what? What does it have to gain by tricking her?

Every question piles more and more confusion onto Vertin's mind, with no answer in sight. All she could do was watch the illusionary girl sway back and forth, before turning to look at her once more.

"Did...something happened?" Schneider spoke once more, the distance between them now shrunk exponentially, to the point that Vertin can make out the details on her face. The smoothness of her skin, the light paleness of her cheeks, her confused eyes, gazing at Vertin, an edge ever present to them that only helps to amplify how softly she looked at her; one so gentle and so fragile, like a single touch could shatter it in a single moment.

This was too real.

This "illusion" felt too real.

It reminded her of a spell once casted onto her a long yet still not long enough time ago, one that had also allowed her to see the same expression she was seeing now on this girl's face. That same fragility, that same softness, that same glint in her eyes.

Vertin couldn't help but purse her lips, trembling as they were.

"....Are you...real?"

Her voice was barely audible, her throat so utterly dried that it felt physically painful to even speak. And yet, she had to, for Vertin's hands was trembling from gripping onto the chair far too tight and far too long now.

Schneider's expression swayed slightly, as she seemingly took her time to process the question. Then, an agonizingly long second passes by as the girl's look at her once more with those same crimson eyes.

"Do you want to find out?"

And without another word spoken, Vertin dashes towards her, arms wrapped around the girl as she slumps onto the floor.

Vertin's hands gripped onto the girl tightly, feeling the fabric of the familiar jacket she had held in her arms time and time again now filled with genuine life once more. The crease of the fabric stretches and pulls with each subtle movement from its wearer, so lively with each one.

But most of all, Vertin could sense her heartbeat, a rhythmic, slightly faster than how it usually should be, pounding ever so gently on the same side of where Vertin's heart laid. A right heartbeat.

Vertin gasps, yet no air left her lungs. Her arms closed around the girl's soft body ever so more, as her shoulders began to tremble.

Schneider stayed still, her face flashing through many different emotions as she struggles to find one to stay on, but as she feels Vertin's trembling shoulders, her tight fingers clasping onto her coat so firmly as if for just a moment of careless could cause her to slip away from the girl's hands once more; Schneider stayed quiet, as she wrap her arms gently around Vertin.

The Timekeeper doesn't express emotions. It's what the girl had come to learn for herself. She had learned to process them, understand them and then bury them under her mind, to keep all her emotions firmly set in place. It's what was expected of her, what was needed of her. She had not abandoned her emotions regardless, no matter what anyone tells her she should do, but she had learned to keep them in check, to not let others worry about her.

Yet now, her arms wrapped tightly around the citrus scented girl once more, feeling her soft breath against her neck once again, and that very same girl could only let streams of tears run down her cheeks as her eyes remained still like glass.

After all, even a Timekeeper would cry when witnessed a miracle.

#reverse 1999 #vertin x schneider #schneider reverse 1999 #schneider #potential idea that may blossom into something more #my way of coping #I like them too much man #writing #vertin #spoilers #r1999 #a potential fanfic I may or may not be working on?#re1999 #verneider

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